


Locker Room After Hours

by Hopetohell



Category: Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: First Person, Gags, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, Spit Kink, Stream of Consciousness, improvised gags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Walter needs to bleed off some stress after a long day at work.
Relationships: Walter Marshall/Reader, walter marshall/you
Kudos: 6





	Locker Room After Hours

It’s just you and me, Walter. It’s just you and me and the locker room after hours, when ghosts walk the precinct halls and anyone, _anyone_ could peer into this room and see us. 

It’s just you and me and your cock that still gives me pause every time with the sheer heft of it, heavy and red (and sometimes I think about it, about what would happen if you shoved it in and made me take it, but lover you’re too good to me).

This is you and me and the locker room at night, and the panties that you tore from me so you could shove them in my mouth, so you could nose along my neck and fill your senses with my need and sweat. This is you and me and the imprint of your name written backwards on my skin when you shove me up against your locker. I’ll be all diamond mesh and the rectangle of your nameplate; I will feel the bruises later and I’ll revel in them but I’ll keep them to myself. This is you and me and everything I ever wanted 

(it’s you, it’s only ever and always you).

This is you around me and all your bulk blocks out the light; I am in your shadow and if I could talk I would beg you to eclipse me further, to press me harder and harder against these lockers until you make a me-shaped dent in the metal, until your sweat leaves a sheen to outline me like handprints on cave walls, until my every inhalation depends on the smallest space left inside your exhalation. 

I’m all in if you’re all in; see, here’s my signal. It’s green across the board. Come on come on _come on you bastard._ Bet you get the meaning even if the words aren’t there, even if all you hear is sloppy wet _unhs_ around the gag. But you’re smart and you can read me all too well and there it is, the hand on my jaw 

(Please please please leave fingerprint bruises, you’re too careful all the time and now and then I just want you to break me)

and the words in my ear, _what was that sweetheart?_ Care to try again? And work rides you hard, I know; work's had your curls in disarray well before I tried to run my fingers through them, before you grasped my wrist in your big paw and pressed it firm beside my head and

_Don't move, sweetheart. You drop your hands and the game is over._

And christ, all I want is to touch, to hold, to soothe, to pull one or both of us to pieces, but rules are rules and I really, really need your hands on me. Need it like air, like water, like the sweet insistent throb of you so close to where I need you most. _Walter, please, come on_ and you can hear it, you can parse the grunts and moans and draw a circle from what I want to what I need and back again. Walter, if I could talk I'd say please, come on, get inside me already.

Come on, let me help you bleed the stress off some. I'm not gonna break and you know you want to play a little rough. You want to translate all your stress and fear and anger into this, into the way you spin me round and press my face against the mesh, into the way you've got your hand prying me apart so you can spit right into my center, so you can lay claim. 

_That's what you wanted, isn't it? Being possessed, being owned, being mine._

Walter, honestly, it's a little out of character. Are you doing this for you, or just for me? Because you know I love it, the spitting and the boot prints, whenever and however I can get them, but it costs you. It costs you dearly and the price of it is this: you worry about it, somehow. You worry it's all a ruse, that I'll look up one day and say _nah, it's been fun, now get the hell out._ Which, I know. I know. It's human in the worst way and listen. 

What I want right now is for you to press a palm over the small of my back and just fuck right into me, let everything out and push your claim in deep. Wanna feel the bruises and I’ll know. I’ll know you were here and you were real and warm; I’ll remember this ache and _oh there you are inside me._ There you are and Christ, I need a moment, I forget. I forget the feel of you driving into me like that, like you’re gonna split me open up to my throat. I forget, but you remind me. 

You remind me of the long, dirty roll of your hips that ends with skin against skin, with your hands molding my body into position. You remind me unequivocally that I am yours with the mesh pattern that digs into the side of my face, with the hand that hauls me back onto your cock with the understanding that you will fill me up and leave me on the edge. 

I’m all in if you’re all in. When we get home you can lay me down all gentle of you like; you can make it sweet and soft and kiss the bruises from my body, but for now can you please 

can you please 

can you please just take and take and take, trade your frustration for mine and leave me hanging, leave semen sticky on my thighs when I have to walk from here to your truck, when the engine’s vibrations make their way up through the seat and into my core where I’m still trying to clench shut around the sheer size of you. Please. 

Oh you bastard, there you are with the sudden stilling of your hips and that distant pulse. There you are almost asking, almost reaching for my clit but you remember and you pull back; you’re selfish for me and you make me walk, you make me dress to feel the stickiness soaking through my clothes; you pull the panties from my mouth so you can stroke your tongue across mine openmouthed and filthy and it isn’t even a kiss, it’s another kind of claim. It’s your hand on my jaw again, tilting up, assessing the way I meet your eyes. 

It’s you and me, and it is everything.


End file.
